Sanders, The Wolfe, & The Wardrobe
by Shadowfax27
Summary: RyanGreg SLASH! A pointless, grin inducing, fluffy, multichapter ficlet that's bordering on a crackfic, addressing the issue of the boys' choice of clothing. “Love is blind.” Therefore, “Where Greg’s laundry smells, Ryan’s love dwells.” Read and giggle.
1. Cobweb Of Yesterdays

**TITLE: Sanders, The Wolfe, & The Wardrobe – 1 of ?**

**AUTHOR & BETA:** Shadowfax27 (Yeah, mistakes make me human…)

**GENRE: **Fluff/Romance/Crackfic Humor

**DISCLAIMER:** If I owned them, don't you think TPTB would've done a crossover and would've gotten these two hotties together by now? Duh…

**RATING:** PG-13

**PAIRING:** Ryan Wolfe/Greg Sanders

**WARNING: SLASH! **Got that? And in the words suggested to me by ladydarisa, **_"Flames will be used to make heat-up lube and condoms for Ryan and Greg."_** So, don't read if you don't like this kind of pairing. You have been warned.

**A/N: **I know I haven't updated in a while. I'm currently at an impasse as far as updates (though, that's not to say that the plot penguins aren't biting). But I was thinking about this grin-inducing scenario several weeks ago and thought that I might as well go ahead and write it into a ficlet format just to break this dreaded writer's block. Anyway, the question came up as to whether or not the boys would like the way that their partner dressed. Or would they try to change each other's wardrobe once they got together? Based on Ryan's OCD, I think he would probably make Greg throw away some of the rattier shirts that are just too wild and too worn to wear, but he probably won't make him throw it all away 'cause that's part of the reason why he loves Greg -- he's different, and he's wildly fun. Hence, the birth of this pointless fluff of a ficlet that's really bordering on a crackfic... I hope you guys enjoy this, nonetheless.

**_Dedicated to all Ryan/Greg shippers, especially Twiztid4togo, whose question about the boys' clothing inspired Chapter 3 of this crazy little fic. Thanks for keeping my mind firmly in Gutterville! Heheheheeee…_**

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Chapter 1 – Cobweb Of Yesterdays

It had been three months since Ryan Wolfe and Greg Sanders had finally decided to take that proverbial leap into the land of declared relationships.

Two months since they were finally able to work out Greg's paperwork and job transfer from Las Vegas to the Miami Dade Crime Lab, where he would be working primarily as a DNA tech and then as a backup CSI whenever the need arises.

One month since they had found a new and bigger space to move in together, to call their home, close to work and convenient to the beach, where an extremely giddy Greg had promised to teach a very reluctant Ryan how to surf.

Three weeks since they had completely settled in: painted the rooms, hung picture frames, argued jokingly about the proper way to organized their cabinets and book shelves and CDs, and unpacked the rest of their belongings.

Two weeks since the last time Greg Sanders had done his laundry, which was beginning to mutate into its own smelly geographic landmark in the corner of their bedroom.

One week since Ryan Wolfe had been resisting the urge to say something about the state of his lover's clothes, or better yet… to demolish said eyesore himself. He just rolled his eyes, shook his head, and went on his not-so-merry-anymore way… to work.

It had been six days since Greg had caused an appreciative grin to appear on Ryan's face by promising to do his own laundry 'soon' without any prodding from the Floridian, much to the latter's pleasant surprise. And yes… they did make love that night.

It had been five days since Ryan had stubbornly refused to look at the still-present, still-unattended, and still-growing pile of unwashed and unsorted clothes in the corner of their bedroom, remembering Greg's promise and holding onto it the same way Greg would hold onto him in the heat of their horizontal dance.

Four days since Greg, not unexpectedly, ran out of underwear and had to secretly 'borrow' one of Ryan's without first asking his lover for permission. He silently cursed himself and vowed to do at least one load of his ever-growing pile of laundry when he got home from work that night… starting with the underwear.

It had been three days since Ryan had discovered that he was missing a pair of boxers after he had gotten home from work and had taken his nightly shower. He searched for the missing garment for the next twenty minutes, frowning hard in concentration as he looked for it in all the possible places he thought he might've left it.

Frustrated, he stood up finally and cursed, his eyes reluctantly landing like a magnet on the horrendous mountain of clothes in the corner of the room and finding his missing boxers there, haphazardly laying on top. He breathed an exasperated sigh, hesitantly approached the now-stinking pile, and shook his head dismally at the sight.

Stepping closer still, he was about to reach for his underwear when the mound suddenly and unexpectedly shifted. Startled, he froze mid-grab and frowned, staring at the mound before him for a moment before reaching out again. The mass shifted from underneath once more, and this time, he heard the distinct sound of a muffled squeak and the pitter-patter of little feet, running hurriedly towards his direction as it attempted to get out from beneath the pile.

Thoroughly alarmed and before he could even see what kind of a creature had created an unwanted home among his lover's clothes, he jumped over the bed with an unmanly yelp and bolted out of the room in a tizzy, slamming the bedroom door behind him shut and gripping the handle with both hands (as if the creature could somehow reach up, turn the handle, and get out of the room) as he tried to catch his breath and calm his shaken nerves.

Twice he had thought about peeking into the room to make sure that he hadn't been imagining things. Heck, he had even considered going back in to properly investigate what had been dwelling underneath his lover's clothes. But each time he had felt ready enough to turn the handle, he found his heart rate soaring so anxiously that he would end up pulling his trembling hand away before he could even touch the brass knob.

At a loss for what to do, Ryan finally decided to wait it out.

Greg was working a double that night, and with no other option presenting itself before him on how to deal with the creepy living thing that he had so expertly trapped within his normal place of rest, Ryan had relegated himself in uncomfortable reluctance to sleep on the couch in the living room, feet propped up high against the armrest as he slept, clutching a broomstick like a lifeline to his side.

Only time would tell whether there was, indeed, a critter residing underneath Greg's dirty heap of clothes. But for now, Ryan was going to content himself with sleeping in the living room…

On the couch…

And as far away from whatever that mysterious critter was as possible…

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**TBC **

**_Reviews are the main staple for my starving plot penguins and the antidote for my writer's block._**

_**Please be kind… feed the penguins (and me). **_

**A/N: **Mwahahaha… cliffhangers are my friends! Well, this was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but the plot penguin wouldn't be satisfied with just one chapter. This first part could definitely be considered a crackfic, but I giggled the whole time I was writing this part of the fic. What did y'all think so far?


	2. Battle Cry Of A CSI

**TITLE: Sanders, The Wolfe, & The Wardrobe – 2 of ?**

**AUTHOR & BETA:** Shadowfax27 (Yeah, mistakes make me human…)

**GENRE: **Fluff/Romance/Crackfic Humor

**RATING:** PG-13 or T (for language)

**PAIRING:** Ryan Wolfe/Greg Sanders

**DISCLAIMER:** They're still not together… know what that means?

**WARNING: SLASH! **Got that? And in the words suggested to me by lj userladydarisa , **_"Flames will be used to make heat-up lube and condoms for Ryan and Greg."_** So, don't read if you don't like this kind of pairing. You have been warned.

**SUMMARY: **I made up this saying as an answer to why Ryan had put up so long with Greg's dirty laundry. lj userPersikay had suggested that I put it up, so here it is: "Love is blind." Therefore, "Where Greg's laundry smells, Ryan's love dwells." I know… it's lame, but I can't help it, hehehe…

**A/N: **This is probably one of the more "crack-a-licious" of the chapters. Enjoy! I had a giggle of a time writing the silliness.

**_Dedicated to all Ryan/Greg shippers, especially Twiztid4togo, whose question about the boys' clothing inspired one of the chapters of this crazy little fic. Belated Happy Birthday, girlie! I hope this makes you smile._**

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Chapter 2 – Battle Cry Of A CSI

_Twice he had thought about peeking into the room to make sure that he hadn't been imagining things. Heck, he had even considered going back in to properly investigate what had been dwelling underneath his lover's clothes. But each time he had felt ready enough to turn the handle, he found his heart rate soaring so anxiously that he would end up pulling his trembling hand away before he could even touch the brass knob._

_At a loss for what to do, Ryan finally decided to wait it out._

_Greg was working a double that night, and with no other option presenting itself before him on how to deal with the creepy living thing that he had so expertly trapped within his normal place of rest, Ryan had relegated himself in uncomfortable reluctance to sleep on the couch in the living room, feet propped up high against the armrest as he slept, clutching a broomstick like a lifeline to his side._

_Only time would tell whether there was, indeed, a critter residing underneath Greg's dirty heap of clothes. But for now, Ryan was going to content himself with sleeping in the living room…_

_On the couch…_

_And as far away from whatever that mysterious critter was as possible…_

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Ryan was awakened by his internal alarm clock the next morning, and he sat up tiredly as he stretched, cracking his neck on each side before fully opening his eyes. A small frown graced his face at the brief unfamiliarity of his surroundings before he realized in a flash where he was.

With a reactionary start, he swiftly jumped onto the couch, pulling both feet up off the floor and looked widely around the room for any signs of the creature (just in case it happened to exit the bedroom), all the while hanging onto the broomstick like a crazed janitor, ready to pounce on and whack at whatever might be lurking around him.

A full ten minutes of looking around and draping his body in weird upside-down positions to look underneath the couch and the loveseat had passed before Ryan finally felt safe enough to put his legs down to stand on the floor. Still clutching the broomstick in his left hand, he crept softly towards their bedroom at the end of the hallway and pressed his left ear against the door, listening for any sign of movement on the inside.

Silence.

With a deep breath, he reached with his right hand and turned the handle, opening the door just a sliver before peeking in carefully.

More silence…

No apparent movement.

And the mound of laundry seemed to still be in place… right where he had left it last night.

He sighed and stepped tentatively into the room, his broomstick ever ready to go on the offensive as he scanned the room for any traces of the mysterious 'creature.' Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, however, he sighed yet again and shook his head, lowering his weapon with a shrug as he made his way towards the master bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him once he was inside, and setting his broomstick-turned-weapon by the wall next to the door.

Perhaps he had allowed Greg's pile of laundry to bother him too much, so much so that he had begun to imagine things that weren't even there… or weren't really there to begin with.

Looking at himself in the mirror as he undressed for his shower, he laughed at how foolish his actions had been the previous night. Hell… if Greg had been there to witness the whole ridiculous escapade, he probably would've laughed at him too and would've teased him relentlessly about his fear of imaginary creatures that dwell within the deep recesses of smelly mounds of unwashed clothes.

Clothes.

Ryan groaned at the thought.

Right…

Greg had yet to fulfill his promise to Ryan to do his own laundry, and Ryan was beginning to feel his OCD barrier reach its breaking point. He was beginning to think that Greg's definition of 'soon' definitely differed from his. He might just have to make it a point to replace Greg's dictionary, then; make sure that they were going to start consulting the same one – preferably the one that's OCD-friendly.

With an exasperated breath, Ryan finally made up his mind right then and there that if Greg doesn't do something about the mass of clothes in the corner of their bedroom, that he, himself, would break down and, in all likelihood, sort them out for him… but not without consequences, of course.

A wickedly devious grin spread across his boyish face at the thought…

Yes!

If Greg doesn't keep his promise by tonight, then Ryan would not only do his laundry for him (he was going to do his own laundry tonight, anyway), he would also sort out his clothes _and_ reorganize his lover's side of the closet. That meant that _whatever_ he had deemed inappropriate for Greg to wear would be quickly and quietly tossed out as if they were never there to begin with.

And yes… should the unfortunate event where Greg were to ask him if he had seen a particular piece of clothing were to occur, he would try his damnedest to keep a straight face and put on his most innocent look.

And he would most definitely plead the fifth.

Invigorated by the thought of getting rid of some of Greg's rattier clothes, Ryan set about getting ready. He showered quickly but thoroughly before shutting off the water and reaching for his towel to dry off. When he had wrapped the damp cloth low around his waist, he stepped out and proceeded to fulfill the rest of his early morning routine, thoughts about the unseen creature now completely forgotten as he busied himself with getting ready for his early morning errands.

He had the day off today, and he wanted to make sure that he got his errands done before going home to work on his and Greg's laundry. And if he was going to execute his devious plan properly, he would have to hurry out of the house so that he could get back in time to finish all the loads of laundry and still have plenty of time to sort through his lover's then-washed wardrobe before Greg could come home and catch him in the act.

He really didn't want to have to 'argue' with the DNA tech-turned-CSI about his choices of clothing. And he certainly didn't want to get into a discussion over which shirts are simply too ratty to wear anymore and which shirts are still worth keeping… especially since Greg's and his vocabulary doesn't seem to match when it comes to certain things.

He cringed suddenly at the thought…

Knowing Greg, he _would_ more than likely keep his favorite shirts forever… ratty or not.

Still, Ryan had already made up his mind about what he should do. And before the end of tonight, he and his OCD would most certainly feel better about the state of his lover's wardrobe.

He had only to get dressed now, and soon, he would be out the door in no time to run those errands.

Then, he would return quickly to execute his devious but _brilliant_ plan…

And Greg wouldn't have a clue what kind of OCD hit his closet by the time Ryan was done.

Smirking to himself as he replaced his comb back into its designated spot within the drawer to the left of the sink, he turned around, reached for the bathroom door, and flung it wide open. He was about to step out into his bedroom when he suddenly caught some kind of movement on the floor just a few feet from where he had been standing.

Trailing his gaze down, his eyes landed on a tiny white mouse busily chewing away at a piece of black fabric – most likely Greg's.

So…

He wasn't imagining things, after all.

The creature _was_ real.

It dwelled within the caverns of that mountain of dirty laundry in the corner of their bedroom.

And now it was feasting on one of Greg's smelly and unwashed black socks.

Ryan stood there, frozen in shock and in fear for about a full minute before the furry creature even took notice of him. Then, their eyes finally met, wide hazel greens-turned-shocked gray, staring down in disbelief at the pair of beady black ones. And for a moment, it seemed as if both occupants were having a staring down match, trying to size up and intimidate each other, as neither moved from their spot.

A series of high-pitched squeaks that sounded a lot like critter laughter emanated from the floor, breaking the tensioned silence between them. And in a flash, Ryan reacted by grabbing the broomstick he had previously propped up on the bathroom wall and hurriedly swinging it down at the offending creature with an undignified bark-shout of a battle cry.

How dare that mouse stare him down and then laugh at him as if it owned the place?

Panicked and totally grossed out as he was at having a maniacally territorial rodent running lose around his bedroom, Ryan would still have none of _that_ kind of behavior… especially not from a puny little critter. In his mind, he figured that if anyone should be laughing and acting like he owned the place, it should've been him, the Wolfe… and not some lowly mouse, which had the nerve to 'challenge' him and then mock him in his own bedroom with its high-pitched squeak of a laugh.

Pouncing on the intruder with his trusty domestic weapon, Ryan didn't care if he looked like an utter fool as he determinedly chased around the mouse in nothing but a towel, now barely hanging on around his waist, and a broomstick, which he had kept on swinging down again and again with a gravelly Neanderthal shout, each time narrowly missing the little creature as it expertly dodged his frenzied attacks.

Sensing that the towel around his waist was about to fall off, however, Ryan had stopped his furious attacks for just a minute to adjust and wrap the towel tighter around his waist, setting the broomstick down against the wall for a second, even as his eyes never left the corner, where the mouse had quickly taken refuge.

Seizing on his moment of distraction, however, the clever mouse suddenly came out of hiding and with a piercing screech, charged head-on at the pale, now-petrified, white cloth-garbed Neanderthal, who had been trying to hunt it down for the last fifteen minutes and beating at it unsuccessfully with its domestic stick, while it shouted and grunted like a crazed caveman.

Ryan shrieked in terror at the charging creature, and in his panicked haste to jump off the floor and on top of the bed, he forgot to grab his broomstick, knocking it down on the floor instead, just a few measly feet beyond his reach from on top of his perch. Cursing at the sudden turn of events, Ryan turned to see the furry little critter skitter hurriedly towards his former weapon, climb on top of the flat straw surface, and, if at all possible, smugly sit on its hind legs to squeal in shrill triumph at its conquest…

And at having one-up the all-powerful, all-petrified, and all-pissed off Wolfe.

Scowling at having been outsmarted by what he had considered to be a brainless little rodent, the CSI now looked at his bedside clock to check the time, groaning in frustration when he realized that he was now in danger of running behind schedule – he had less than twenty minutes to get dressed and get out the door to begin running his errands before he runs out of time to wash and dry all of Greg's laundry and then to sort it all out before said CSI gets home from work later that afternoon.

What was he supposed to do now?

The damn creature was still sitting on his broomstick, seemingly enjoying the helpless position it had put the crazy human in.

He had thought about calling Greg to see if he could stop by for a few minutes and do a little bit of animal control in their bedroom so that he could finally get ready and take care of the things he needed to take care of. But he belatedly realized that he had left his cell phone on top of the table by the foyer… along with his keys, his badge, and his gun.

Gun.

Now _that_ was a novel idea…

Ryan, however, seriously doubted that he wanted mouse brain and blood and entrails splattered all over their immaculate bedroom floor.

He cringed disgustedly at the thought.

Dead or alive, he wouldn't want to come near nor have to clean up that revolting mess… not with that now-contaminated broomstick that had fallen conquest to the mouse's cunning surprise attack.

Not even with a ten-foot pole.

And yes… he would have to either throw away that stick or burn it once this whole hullabaloo was over.

Damn the stupid mouse!

The way the little critter had been eyeing him suspiciously, he doubted that he would even be able to reach his closet to pull out his clothes before he gets attacked again.

He glanced at the clock a second time, his mind working in overdrive as he realized that he now only had a little under eight minutes left to get ready and head out the door before he falls completely behind schedule.

No…

Seven minutes left before his genius plan to underhandedly sift and sort through Greg's clothing gets completely washed away; before he could even wash _all_ of said CSI's overdue laundry.

Damn!

Make that six minutes.

Oh, shit!

Had he really been standing and thinking on top of his bed that long?

He felt trapped, and with each tick of the clock, he felt his burgeoning panic beginning to overwhelm him.

He was running out of time… fast!

And running out of rational options, for that matter.

With only five minutes left on the clock, Ryan finally made up his mind for the second time that morning, deciding on a crazy and 'irrational' course of action instead.

Yes.

There was, indeed, only one thing left to do…

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**TBC **

**_Reviews are the main staple for my starving plot penguins and the antidote for my writer's block._**

_**Please be kind… feed the penguins (and me).**_

**A/N: **Mwahahaha… another cliffhanger! What's Ryan going to do now? You'll have to wait and find out… Oh, and in case you're wondering where the idea for the critter half of this fic came from, let's just say that I had a recent encounter with one Mickey and Minnie Mouse at a friend's (who was scared to death of them and wouldn't put her feet down on the floor until they were caught) house. And yes… I was the one who was clutching the broomstick and squealed and screamed every time I tried to whack at the fast little buggers. LOL Unfortunately, my broomstick campaign wasn't so successful, but we eventually caught the little critters. And no, don't ask me how we did it because I'm not going to tell you, hehehe…


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